Halloween Short Story
“The Hospital”
Every town has a place it pretends doesn’t exist. In this town, that place was St. Elora’s Hospital, a crumbling shell on the edge of the woods, abandoned since a fire in 1987 and whispered about ever since.
Kids dared each other to go near it.
Only three were dumb—or brave—enough to actually do it.
Nico, the loudmouth leader.
Trevor, his hype man.
And Miles, the quiet one who never said no fast enough. It was Halloween night when they biked out there, backpacks filled with spray paint, flashlights, and too much confidence.
“This is history, boys,” Nico said, shaking a can of neon green. “We’re leaving our legacy.”
Trevor laughed. “Just don’t tag your real name like last time, genius.”
They stood outside the massive brick building, its front door boarded shut and the windows covered in grime. The place loomed over them like it was watching.
They got to work, spraying graffiti along the back wall. Bright colors against faded red brick. Ghosts, skulls, initials.
Then Nico said what Miles had hoped he wouldn’t:
“Let’s go inside.”
Trevor looked uneasy. “Didn’t someone die there?”
“People always die in hospitals.” Nico grinned. “Come on. Five minutes. I dare you.”
The back door was hanging off its hinges. Inside, the hospital was silent, choked with dust, old decay, and the sharp sting of mold. Their flashlight beams sliced through the darkness, landing on rusted gurneys, scattered medical charts, and old wheelchairs that seemed to move slightly when no one was looking.
“We should split up,” Trevor said after a while. “Cover more ground. Get cooler shots.”
It was a terrible idea. But nobody said no.
Miles wandered down a long corridor on the second floor, flashlight flickering. The walls were painted pale green, but most of the color had peeled away. A row of broken doors lined either side. The air was heavier here, thick with something sour and old.
Then he saw her.
At the end of the hallway.
A woman in a tattered hospital gown. Her skin was pale gray, her hair hanging in wet strands over her face. She didn’t move like a person—she hovered. Feet off the ground. Frozen, just staring at him.
Miles stepped back. “Hello?”
She screamed.
Not just loud, inhumanly loud. A shriek so sharp it felt like it split the air. And then she moved.
Fast.
Floating down the hallway at him, arms outstretched, mouth open wider than any human mouth should ever go. Her eyes were white, endless, locked onto him like prey.
Miles ran. He didn’t think, didn’t breathe. Just ran.
The hallway stretched behind him like a nightmare. He reached the window at the end, barely hesitating before throwing himself through it.
Glass shattered.
Wind howled.
Then—impact.
He hit the grass below, his arm screaming in pain.
But worse than the pain…
…were the bodies.
Trevor and Nico lay twisted in the grass. Faces frozen in terror. Blood smeared across the dirt. One of Trevor’s fingers was still curled around a spray can.
Miles stumbled back, heart racing, stomach turning. He grabbed his phone and dialed 911 with shaking hands.
“Help! My friends, they’re dead. There’s something in there—”
The cops showed up ten minutes later.
Miles led them to the bodies.
Only…
There were no bodies.
No blood.
No broken glass. The second-story window he jumped through? Intact. Spotless.
One officer frowned at Miles. “You sure this is the place?”
Miles could barely speak. “They were right here. They were—”
Then he looked up.
On the second floor.
She was there.
In the window.
Watching him.
Smiling.
To this day, Miles swears it happened.
But there’s no proof. No footage. No friends left to back him up.
Only the memory.
And every Halloween, when he walks past the old hospital…
He still sees her.
Waiting.
Sebastian Angulo
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